by Matt Ralphs
‘No . . .’ Hazel shook her head and the world spun. She wasn’t sure of anything any more.
Murrell took a step closer. ‘But she forgives you, Hazel, and she wants to see you again. I made a promise to bring you back to her. You don’t want to disappoint your mother, do you?’
No, I don’t want to disappoint Ma. Hazel stood up. ‘I just want to see her again.’
‘Hazel, listen to me,’ Bramley’s voice pierced her mind like a needle. ‘He’s lying.’
Murrell offered a hand towards her. ‘Come. Leave the dangerous company of this Witch Hunter and join your own people. Don’t you want to see your mother again?’
Hazel longed to feel her ma’s arms around her and hear her soft voice telling her that everything was going to be all right. She moved to the ladder as if in a dream.
‘Hazel!’ Bramley wailed.
She looked at Murrell’s outstretched hand and put her foot on the top step.
At that moment David stirred and struggled to his knees. His face was pale and oddly bloated. ‘Don’t leave, Hazel,’ he cried. ‘They’ll kill me.’
Murrell’s head whipped round towards him. ‘Spindle,’ he snapped.
The spider hissed and sprang back towards David, sinking its fangs into his cheek.
Hazel blinked. Her mind cleared. Murrell’s spell was broken. The silken words he’d implanted in her mind shrivelled up in the rising flames of her anger. She stepped away from the ladder and leaned over the railing as the spider-demon scuttled away from David’s motionless body and started to advance towards her.
‘You’re a liar,’ she shouted. ‘You stole my ma and poisoned my friend.’
‘Hazel,’ Bramley cried from somewhere near her shoulder. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’
Murrell looked disappointed. ‘Your mother wouldn’t want us to fight, Hazel.’
‘That shows what you know,’ she replied. ‘Because fighting you is exactly what she’d want me to do.’ Heat rose in a haze from her skin.
Murrell took a few steps back, gesturing for Lilith and Spindle to do the same. ‘Before you strike me down,’ Murrell announced, ‘let me give you some advice.’
Hazel hardly heard him over the rush of blood in her ears; her chest glowed like a furnace as she gathered her magic.
‘Never,’ Murrell continued, ‘start a battle without knowing the odds.’ He glanced over his shoulder and shouted, ‘Rawhead!’
Fear suffocated Hazel’s fire and she shrank back against the wagon as the demon stalked out of the mist – powerful, menacing and cloaked in blood-stink. It halted by Murrell, leaning forward on its knuckles, nostrils dilated, and pointed its blank face towards her.
Murrell placed his thumb-less hand on the creature’s head.
It can smell me. Just like the book said. Hazel tried to swallow her fear but the demon’s ravaged flesh and rows of teeth melted her courage away. It pawed the ground, carving runnels in the dirt.
‘Steady, Rawhead,’ Murrell said. He turned to Hazel. ‘I’m afraid you’ve made quite an enemy of him.’
‘I’m glad.’ Hazel wished her voice wouldn’t shake so much.
‘Did you know that in our world, demons cannot heal their wounds? Rawhead is in great pain from the burns you gave him.’
‘Well, I’m so sorry,’ Hazel said. ‘Remind me to be more welcoming next time a demon comes to abduct my mother.’
‘This is your last chance.’ Murrell pointed his walking stick at her. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you force my hand.’
‘You can’t fight us all,’ Lilith added as she sidled closer, her oversized spider-demon behind her.
Hazel raised her arms and flames spread from her hands like a phoenix reborn. ‘I can try.’
Murrell, Rawhead, Lilith and Spindle spread out in a semi-circle and began to close in on the wagon. The horses shied anxiously, jingling their harnesses.
Can I do this? Can I deliberately hurt other people? Hazel thought. A worm of doubt wriggled in her stomach.
That half-second of hesitation was all Murrell needed. He slammed his walking stick on to the ground and a blinding light flashed from the handle. Hazel yelped in surprise, and through the rain of stars obscuring her sight, she saw Lilith bounding towards her, closely followed by Spindle.
Hazel cast her arm towards them and released her magic. A wild arc of fire roared from her fingers, lighting up the forest and scouring the ground to the side of the wagon. The horses reared backwards in panic, almost jerking Hazel off her feet as smoke filled the air and flames cut a swathe across the track, throwing up dirt and vaporizing puddles.
‘Lilith!’ Murrell dropped his stick and dived forward, throwing his arms around the witch’s waist and knocking her away from the wave of fire. She screamed as they landed together and rolled to a stop at the edge of the track.
Murrell lay on his back, the edge of his cloak smouldering from where the flames had caught him. ‘Get the girl,’ he growled to Rawhead.
Hazel slumped into the seat, blinking the sight back into her eyes, vaguely aware of Samson barking frenziedly inside the wagon.
Rawhead appeared through the receding wall of fire, vaulting from the back of the whinnying horses and up on to the carriage. The wagon creaked under its weight.
Clammy, long-fingered claws closed around Hazel’s neck, shoving her back against the wagon and cutting off her breath. She stared past rows of teeth into the ridged flesh on the roof of Rawhead’s mouth. The smell of blood was overwhelming.
‘Rawhead,’ Murrell cried. ‘Don’t kill her – I command you not to kill her.’
The demon leaned closer, mouth widening. Hot breath blasted her skin.
A roar came from inside the wagon, followed by a crash as a roof hatch was thrown open. Everyone froze. Rawhead’s grip loosened just enough for Hazel to strain her head towards the noise.
Titus White appeared through the hatch, coat billowing and with a blunderbuss in his hands. He glowered at them all from under a wide-brimmed capotain hat.
‘So,’ he bellowed, ‘what the hell do we have we here?’
16
THE WITCH FINDER
Cromwell’s Witch Hunters have rejected the dead King’s
Witch Finders’ principles of investigation, fairness and justice,
and replaced them with brutality, indifference and fear.
England – A Land in Turmoil by Lady Lucinda Munday
The stooped drunkard last seen snoring on the floor and stinking of cheap cider had gone. Titus White now glared down at them all like a preacher berating his terrified congregation from a pulpit.
The demon snorted, its claws still tight around Hazel’s neck.
Titus flicked his eyes at her. ‘Slop-sprite,’ he said with a sharp nod. Then the blunderbuss roared, spewing fire, metal shards and a plume of black-powder smoke.
Hazel gasped a lungful of sulphur-tinged air and fell back into the seat, cracking her head against the eaves and dislodging Bramley who tumbled out of her hair with a terrified squeal and landed on the footboard.
The demon lay on the ground, mouth agape and seeping blood. Its neck and shoulders were covered with smoking shrapnel wounds. Quick as she could, Hazel grabbed Bramley and put him in her pocket.
‘Rawhead – get up.’ Murrell’s cry cut through the fading echoes of the gunshot. ‘Kill the man, but leave the girl unharmed.’
To Hazel’s horror, the demon was already lurching back to its feet, turning its blank, eyeless face towards her. Murrell, mud-splattered and shaking with anger, stalked behind it, his face still hidden by his hood.
‘This is Rawhead, blood-hunter, prince of the Slaughter Gardens in the seventh circle of Dryhthelm. Did you really think your wretched little pop-gun would stop him?’ he yelled at Titus.
Ajax and Hercules stamped nervously as Lilith and Spindle edged forward from the roadside. Trapped inside the wagon, Samson continued his barrage of fearsome barks.
‘That was just a warni
ng shot,’ Titus growled, dropping the blunderbuss and reaching for the swivel cannon. Hazel groped for the reins, preparing herself for what she guessed was about to happen.
Murrell stopped and pointed his stick at Titus. ‘Wait,’ he breathed. ‘I know you. Damn me to the devil, I know you.’
Titus curled his lip and aimed the cannon at Murrell. ‘No one knows me any more,’ he said, and pulled the trigger. The flint struck the firing pan with a click. Nothing happened. No one moved, then Titus yelled, ‘Misfire! Drive, girl, drive.’
Hazel jerked the reins. ‘On, on!’ she cried as the horses pulled away, their iron-shod hoofs ringing on the road as they picked up speed.
Bramley scrambled up her dress and perched behind her ear. ‘Go on, Hazel, run that beastly man down.’
Murrell stood transfixed in the wagon’s path, staring at Titus as if he couldn’t believe who he was seeing. The half-panicked horses bore down on him, snorting and tossing their great heads.
Hazel braced herself, waiting for the snap of breaking bones but a second before impact, Rawhead leaped full-stretch and pushed Murrell to safety. The wagon rumbled past, the front wheel clipping Rawhead’s tail as it tumbled into the ditch next to Lilith and Spindle – its master clutched in its arms.
Ahead, David lay prone in the middle of the road.
‘Titus, can you grab him?’ Hazel yelled, her voice nearly drowned out by jangling reins and creaking axles.
‘Drive around him, I’ll do the rest.’
Hazel pulled the reins and the horses jinked left. She slid helplessly across the polished seat as the wagon slewed off the road, spraying dirt into the air; for a breathless moment she thought it would capsize.
Titus swung his legs over the railing, clambered down from the roof and dropped on to the running board just behind the driver’s seat. The wagon juddered over the rough ground at the side of the road, but somehow the old Witch Finder kept his balance as he crouched down with one arm outstretched.
‘Slow down,’ he commanded.
Hazel pulled back on the reins. As the horses slowed to a trot Titus grabbed David by his trouser belt. ‘Go, go!’ he grunted to Hazel as he lifted the boy off the ground and, using the wagon’s momentum, swung him on to the seat next to her. Hazel jerked the reins with one hand and grabbed David’s collar with the other.
Titus clambered into the seat after him, breathing hard. Amazingly, his hat was still perched on his head. ‘Get us back on the road before the wheels come off.’
Hazel glanced at David as she steered the wagon off the verge. One side of his face was horribly swollen. His right eye was lost deep in folds of flesh, the other open and unseeing. She reached towards the bite wounds on his cheek, hoping to stop the flow of blood.
‘Don’t touch him,’ Titus snapped. ‘Do you want to get poisoned too?’
‘Will he . . . ? Is he going to—?’
‘Die? I don’t know. I’m taking him inside.’ He glanced back up the road. ‘I can’t see anyone following. Keep driving – and keep the pace up. We’ll talk when I’ve seen to the boy.’
Hazel nodded and geed the horses along as Titus clambered through the hatch, dragging David after him. When he closed the door, Bramley crept out of Hazel’s hair, scurried down her arm and perched on her lap.
Hazel laid a hand on him. ‘You’re shaking.’
‘Of course I’m shaking,’ he squeaked. ‘I’m terrified.’
‘David looked terrible,’ she said. ‘His face is all . . . bloated.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ Bramley nudged Hazel’s fingers with his nose.
‘It is my fault.’ The horror of it all made her feel sick. ‘If he dies . . .’
‘Listen,’ Bramley said. ‘You need to think fast. The Witch Finder is going to ask what was going on back there—’
Hazel jumped and Bramley scrambled into her cloak pocket as the hatch crashed open. Titus thrust out his head, now minus the hat.
‘Slow down, slop-sprite,’ he said, climbing out, ‘or the horses will drop dead from exhaustion.’
Hercules and Ajax snorted as she reined them in to a trot, their heaving sides streaked with sweat.
Bramley’s right, Hazel thought to herself. I’ve got to get my story straight or I’ll wind up on the end of a rope.
‘How is he?’ she asked.
‘Dying.’ Titus grabbed the reins from her. ‘Just what bloody story have you written us into, girl?’
‘I’m looking for my ma. I asked David to help me find her, that’s all.’
‘By God, that’s not all. Accosted by demons and Wielders in my own wagon? And my mooncalf apprentice nearly killed? What in blazes happened back there?’
‘They were waiting for us. There was a woman in the road, so David went to see . . . to help. Then that huge spider . . .’
‘That idiot boy walked into an ambush? I thought I’d taught him better than that.’
‘Well, where were you?’ Hazel cried. ‘Laid out drunk and no good to anyone, that’s where.’ She yelped in surprise when he grabbed her chin and thrust his face close to hers.
‘Lucky for you I woke when I did. That demon had a fierce hankering for your flesh.’ He cocked his head, granite-hard eyes boring into her.
He knows, she thought, dread rising in her stomach. He knows what I am!
‘But its handler,’ Titus continued. ‘The hooded man – he wanted you alive. Why would that be, I wonder?’
‘I don’t know,’ Hazel almost sobbed with fear. ‘I’m just a girl . . . looking for her mother.’
‘Just a girl,’ Titus muttered. ‘I don’t believe that for a greased second.’
‘He said he knew you,’ Hazel gasped. ‘Do you know who he is?’
Titus let go of her face and Hazel leaned away, trembling. ‘There was something familiar about him,’ he murmured, stroking his beard. ‘But right now we have bigger problems.’ He jerked a thumb back down the road. ‘They’ll be after us, no doubt about that.’
Hazel nodded and glanced into the swirling mist, certain she could see shapes stalking through it. ‘It’ll be easy for them to follow the wagon,’ she said. ‘They could attack us at any moment.’
‘Correct,’ Titus said. ‘And we need to get help for David. The boy’s a prize-winning fool, but he’s my fool and I won’t see him die. There are a few smallholdings in Wychwood . . . Forest people are strange and don’t like outsiders, but they might help us. Though we won’t get far in the wagon.’
‘What if I take David into the forest while you draw them away in the wagon?’
Titus scowled. ‘That’ll do, I suppose. There’s a bridge coming up that crosses a stream. Follow it east until you reach a cabin on a hill. It’s not too far from here. But be careful – as I said, forest dwellers can be dangerous.’
‘You said “strange” before.’
‘I meant dangerous,’ Titus said. ‘You’ll need to slip away unnoticed. There’s a trapdoor under the rug inside. When we reach the bridge you and David can drop through on to the road and get away as fast as you can. If they’re watching, they’re less likely to notice if you leave that way. I’ll draw those horrors off while you make your escape.’
‘What about you?’ asked Hazel. Although she was terrified of the Witch Finder, she didn’t like leaving him at the mercy of Rawhead and Spindle.
‘I can look after myself. And, girl?’
‘Yes?’
‘You are responsible for what happened to my fool. So see he gets help.’
With a nod she climbed through the hatch into the wagon. Samson wagged his tail and gave a little whine. David lay on the bottom bunk with his arm across his bandaged face, as if shielding himself from a bright light. His chest rose and fell in rapid gasps.
‘David,’ Hazel said, taking his hand. ‘Wake up, we have to go.’
The flesh around the puncture wounds on his cheek was raw and moist. She flinched but didn’t look away. ‘What’s wrong with me?’ he rasped. ‘Am I dying?’
/>
‘Not even slightly,’ she said, forcing herself to smile.
‘I don’t remember what h-happened . . . just that vile spider and then . . . nothing.’ His voice was paper-thin and creased with pain.
‘We were ambushed. They’re still after us, but there might be people nearby who can help. We need to get you out of here. Can you get up?’
David grimaced as he sat up. ‘They’ve not killed me . . . yet.’
‘Good.’ Hazel grabbed her bag and pulled back the rug, revealing a trapdoor with a brass ring handle. She heaved it open. Cold air and threads of mist seeped inside.
David knelt beside her, face blanched with pain as he wound a bandage around his head to cover his wounded eye. The crunch of the wheels changed to a rumble as the wagon mounted the bridge.
‘This is it.’ Hazel said. ‘Follow me as soon as I’ve jumped. Stay low – they may be watching.’ She swung her legs over the edge. ‘And Samson, be a good boy and stay here.’ The dog whined but lay down by the stove.
‘Here goes,’ she said, and dropped through the hatch.
17
BACK IN THE FOREST
Witchcraft is a dark and horrible reality, an ever-present
menace, and a thing most active, perilous and true.
Der Hexenhammer by Dr Heinrich Hoefer
Hazel lay flat on her stomach as the wagon rumbled over her. David landed heavily a few feet away, grunting with pain.
‘We need to get out of sight,’ she hissed, watching the wagon disappear into the mist. She looked up as rain pattered against the leaves. Cool water fell on her face and she licked it from her lips. Its crisp taste sharpened her mind. ‘Come on, let’s get off the road,’ she said, putting her arm around David’s waist and helping him to his feet. They peered over the bridge parapet at steep banks studded with shrubs and mossy rocks. From the bottom, lost in shadow, rose the sound of rushing water. ‘Ready?’
‘No.’ David heaved a rattling breath.
‘Me neither. Let’s go.’
She guided David off the bridge and over the edge of the bank. How on earth did I end up in this situation? she thought, stepping carefully on to what she hoped was a solid foothold. ‘Step where I step, and take care – it’s slippery and a long way down.’